The Best Revenge
by Ellcrys
Summary: Kristoph takes one final shot at disrupting Phoenix's life, now that he's found stability with Miles. The discovery of an old videotape prods at long-healed scars for one, and opens fresh wounds for another.


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**Disclaimer:** Not my characters etc., written for fun not profit, you all know the drill.

**Notes:** From the kink meme, another request that is absolutely _not_ the kind of plot I would usually write in a fic. But this one had enough potential that I wrote it anyway because I wanted to see it written the way I'd write such a plot, if that makes sense...  
I guess what I'm really saying is, don't expect weepiness, excessive melodrama, or stereotypes even if it is a rape recovery fic.  
...This could _almost_ be read as taking place after _Surviving You_, another fic of mine involving Kristoph/Phoenix, except that that one is definite headcanon, whereas this one is more a "welllll, if it had happened, which it didn't, this is how it would mesh with the headcanon" AU.

**Warnings:** Discussion of rape (in the distant past), and non-explicit description - as this is, boiled down, a rape recovery fic.

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**The Best Revenge**

The first time they slept together was an abnormally long time in coming, to Miles's way of thinking. His past relationships (such as they were) with men had been discreet but casual, largely sparked by chemistry in the first place, and there was no sense in two perfectly healthy young men ignoring their desires when the desires themselves were the primary thing which drew them together. With Phoenix, it was different; he'd seemed reluctant. After questioning, he finally admitted that he'd never slept with another guy before, and was a little nervous about it. Miles assured him that he had experience, he could be gentle, but Phoenix still wasn't entirely enthusiastic about it - even averting his eyes like an innocent schoolboy at the sight of Miles undressing.

Though Miles had never been particularly patient when it came to meeting his body's frequently inconvenient needs, and Phoenix was unlike anyone he'd ever even come close to being involved with... well, it was _Phoenix_, who had waited fifteen years to find him again, who had gone through years of law school to save him. Phoenix was patient, so Miles was determined that he could take it slow as well, working up little by little, backing off if Phoenix was uncertain. It was worth it. In fact, the first time he'd gotten Phoenix off, the man was so into it that they were up half the night, until Miles nearly passed out from exhaustion. He woke up with Phoenix curled around him, dead to the world and nearly snoring, and decided this was satisfactory.

In the ten years that followed, they had their ups and downs, and a number of unwelcome interruptions - Phoenix's inexplicable decision to adopt a child without asking Miles, the resulting dalliance between Phoenix and another (deeply disturbed) defense attorney, changes in careers, Miles trying to make himself a life in Europe and failing - because a life in Europe didn't include Phoenix, and he found that this was impossible to reconcile. Now all of that had fallen away, the loose ends were tied up. It was a few years past that they'd both admitted that no one else had ever been able to compare, and that it was time to put all the troubles of their pasts behind them. If they'd known each other for ten years and kept coming back - _twenty-five_ years, Phoenix corrected Miles - then what was the sense in thinking that someday they wouldn't?

Things had been going well since. Miles was practicing again, Phoenix had his own projects to work on and had been mulling over the idea of retaking the bar. Miles had bought a house, and invited Phoenix and Trucy to move in to save on the rent. Phoenix insisted on contributing, but his expenses having been lowered, both their financial situations were stable. Living together was easier than Miles would have expected, even with the sudden acquisition of a teenage daughter; their relationship was stable. Their _lives_ were stable, at long last, and their existence was a peaceful one.

Until the evening when Klavier Gavin came knocking on the door.

"Ah, Herr Edgeworth," the younger man greeted him, looking mildly surprised at who had opened the door, and otherwise very tired behind his mirrored sunglasses. "Is Herr Wright home?"

"He stayed in town with Trucy to watch her show tonight," Miles explained. "Is there something I can help you with instead?" He suspected that there wasn't. Klavier was going through a particularly difficult time, probably more so than even Phoenix - and Phoenix was probably the only person he felt could understand just how difficult it was for him at the moment.

Klavier shook his head. "I just came to give him something. But I'm sure you can make sure he gets it, ja?"

The object in question was a sleeved videotape, unlabelled. Curious, Miles slid it out of the sleeve when Klavier handed it to him, and found a handwritten post-it note attached.

_In the event of my death,  
please give this videotape  
to Phoenix Wright._

"He must have prepared this some time ago," Klavier remarked. "I couldn't even say how long ago, but certainly before his first murder trial. I'd never seen it, until I started going through some of his personal possessions... clothes and so on..." Now that his hands were free, Klavier had started absently playing with his hair. "Who's to say how long it had been in the back of his sock drawer? I wouldn't have looked there if I hadn't been cleaning out the dresser."

And here Miles had thought that with the man having been executed, he might be permanently out of their lives. He should have known better. "Do you know what's on it?" he inquired, sliding the tape back into the sleeve.

"I didn't watch it," Klavier said with a shrug. "It's like a last request, ja? I respect that... so I just followed the instructions. At least I nearly did. I trust you'll pass it along to Herr Wright and complete the task."

Miles wasn't sure he wanted to, in all honesty. He would have preferred to leave everything about the man in his grave. But that wasn't his decision to make, and so he nodded. "I'll let him know when he gets home," he assured Klavier.

"Danke." Klavier smiled a casual smile that wasn't the slightest bit casual.

He looked like he wanted to say something more, but couldn't think of anything. Miles sympathized with him, to a degree - he remembered what it had been like for Franziska, going through her father's belongings, deciding what to keep and what to sell and what to give to charity. "Would you like to come in?" he offered. "I could put on a pot of tea."

Klavier shook his head again, but his smile seemed more real, if a bit wistful. "Danke, but I've never cared much for tea - and it's late in the day for coffee, too. More the time for a few beers, but..." He gestured towards his motorcycle waiting in the driveway. "Not until I'm safely home."

"A wise idea," Miles agreed with a nod. "Take care, then."

"You too." Klavier raised a hand in farewell, turning away, and Miles was left with the videotape in his hand. Only a videotape, but it carried the weight of nearly a decade.

* * *

Another flawless performance, Phoenix reported when he returned home late that night, though Trucy remained convinced that people were going to notice the absence of one white dove who had decided that she rather liked her cozy hiding place inside the cape. Phoenix gave her a hug and told her not to worry - it wasn't time to worry anyway, but time to sleep, since she had school the next day. She gave Miles a kiss on the cheek, he gave her a kiss on the forehead, and then she was off to get changed for bed.

Once her door was closed and the narrow strip of light beneath it had gone dark, and Miles had filled Phoenix in on the trial he'd been involved in that morning, he decided the time was right. "Klavier Gavin stopped by to see you this evening," he began.

Phoenix didn't look terribly surprised. "Yeah? Did he find something of mine over at the manor?"

"...In a sense." Miles had left the videotape on top of the television, and he stood now to bring it to the couch. "It seems that his brother left some parting words for you."

Phoenix's eyes widened, just slightly. "Kristoph recorded something for me?"

Miles recognized that look in his eyes as he reluctantly handed the tape over, with the note still attached. "Phoenix... none of us have watched the tape, but you _mustn't_ forget the kind of man he was."

"I'm not forgetting," Phoenix stated, staring down at the note. "It's just... he never showed any of us all of himself. So maybe we-"

"We _didn't_ get it wrong," Miles told him. "You should know better than anyone."

"But deep down, maybe he felt remorse," Phoenix insisted. "You don't know that he didn't. This could be his confession, an apology... I mean, what else would he have to say to me that he didn't want to have come out until after he was gone? If he managed to live to the end of his days without getting caught, then _finally_ he could let the truth come out without going to jail..."

In one sense, it was a relief that all that had happened hadn't changed the core of who Phoenix was; beneath the cynicism that had risen to the surface, he still held out hope that even the worst of people had _some_ good in them. On the other hand, Miles suspected that he was just going to be let down again - or that if he wasn't, Phoenix would wind up second-guessing himself. But seeing as he couldn't think of anything else that was a logical thing to be on that videotape, he couldn't properly refute the idea even if he wanted to. Instead, he held out his hand. "...If you'd like to watch it alone, I'd understand. But I would prefer that you didn't."

Phoenix shook his head, and gave the videotape back. "I'd rather have you here. ...I'd _always_ rather have you here," he told Miles, as Miles slipped the videotape into the old VCR (it was fortunate that Phoenix had convinced him not to toss the obsolete device - or perhaps it wasn't so fortunate, but they would find out) and picked up the remote. Phoenix smiled a little. "I'm living with you, aren't I?"

Miles just had to smile back as he settled down next to Phoenix - as much pain as his deep-seated optimism might cause for him, or for them both at times, Miles found it comforting in its constancy - and started to rewind the tape, which seemed to be somewhere in the middle.

The smile vanished only moments after he handed the remote to Phoenix, and Phoenix took a deep breath and pressed the play button. Whatever besides an apology Miles might have suspected was on that tape, he'd never suspected anything like this.

The picture was dark - so dark that between the dim lighting, the jittery camera movement, and the poor resolution of the video, Miles couldn't make out the faces of the men who were moving in and out of the picture, or even the one who remained constant. Perhaps it was one of those shows where the cameras followed the police around on their shifts, because it looked like the men had subdued and handcuffed the man who lay nearly motionless on the concrete. But the other men didn't look like police, or move as steadily as trained officers should, and the face of the man on the ground wasn't blurred out...

The camera zoomed in, and Miles caught his breath as the picture focused slowly on a very familiar face, blindfolded and gasping as he was jolted fully conscious by one of the other men gripping his spiky hair and pulling his head back. "Awake now?" one of them asked. "Good. Because this wouldn't be nearly as much fun if you weren't paying attention."

"We've been informed," said another, "that you're the bastard that got Dahlia hauled off to jail. Her own boyfriend."

"It wasn't me," the much-younger Phoenix in the video gasped. "I didn't want to do it... I tried to protect her..."

"So much for protecting her," someone snarled. "We knew you were trouble all along, 'Feenie'."

"You know how much of a slut your girlfriend was?" someone else put in. "You know she was always good for an easy lay, right? And then you go and take her away from us..."

"She wasn't a slut!" Phoenix was protesting, despite his vulnerable position. "She was a good girl... she was a good _person_ - I don't know what happened-"

"So the guy over there gave us an idea," put in another voice, "of how you could repay us for taking her away."

Stunned, Miles looked over to Phoenix, who was staring straight ahead at the television in disbelief, then turned back as the Phoenix in the video cried out in fear. Three of the men were holding him down, stripping his pants and underwear off.

One of them turned towards the camera as Phoenix struggled beneath him, crying for help. "Heh, seeing as this was your idea, do you want to go first?"

The camera jiggled slightly, and Phoenix drew in a deep breath at the reply. "No, thank you - it would please me just to watch. Go right ahead and amuse yourselves, gentlemen."

There was no mistaking where this was going, Miles realized. Still, when he looked to Phoenix, Phoenix was still just sitting there, watching, almost blankly, the remote still in his hand.

He jumped as the cries of fear in the video changed to a sudden sharp cry of pain. All but one of the shadowy figures had backed off, and that one was on top of Phoenix, holding him down, while the others laughed and egged him on. The camera zoomed in again, focusing as well as it could manage on the terrified expression on Phoenix's face. His sobs rose above all the laughter and taunting as he turned his face down towards the pavement and cried.

Miles couldn't stand it anymore. He reached over to take the remote out of Phoenix's hand - which simply let it slip away, almost unnoticed - and pressed stop. The television turned to static, and Miles looked at Phoenix in alarm. "...Phoenix..."

Phoenix just sat there, staring at the television as if he were still watching. Miles had no idea what possibly could have been going through his head, watching that, but he knew it couldn't have been pleasant. Uncertain of what to do, he set the remote aside and reached over to touch Phoenix's arm. "Phoe-"

Abruptly, Phoenix stood and just left the room, heading down the hallway, and Miles got up to follow. "Phoenix?" he called again, as Phoenix went into their bedroom and closed the door.

The door across the hall opened as Miles approached it, and Trucy stood there, blinking with sleepy concern. "What's going on?"

"We'll tell you in the morning," Miles stated, though he had no such intentions, and turned the handle of the other bedroom door. Good - Phoenix hadn't locked it.

Miles, on the other hand, did lock their door once he was inside, and turned to find Phoenix sprawled on his stomach on his side of the bed, his hands clutching his head. "Phoenix..." he murmured, sitting down on the other side, scooting over to sit beside him, reaching out a hand to rest on the small of his back. "What can I do?"

Phoenix flinched at the touch. "For starters," Phoenix began, and despite the way he was trembling, his voice sounded surprisingly light, "I'd rather you didn't touch me right now."

Miles obeyed, though his heart sank. "I'm sorry."

An extra twitch in Phoenix's shoulders might have been a shrug. "It's hardly your fault. Rather, it's not even remotely your fault."

The video had mentioned Dahlia. Dahlia being arrested. That told Miles approximately when the incident had occurred, which meant that unless there had been an oversight... "You didn't report this to the police, did you?"

Phoenix's head moved back and forth a little in his hands. "How did you know?"

"Every police report of a violent crime went past me for a quick review in those days, in case I could tie it to anything I was working on at the moment. That... sort of thing doesn't happen very often." ...He had to ask. "Why didn't you report it?"

"I was ashamed," Phoenix mumbled into the comforter. "And at the time... I thought I deserved it."

"You _didn't_."

"I came to realize that later, yeah. But I _knew_ that the Dahlia Hawthorne I knew would never have killed anyone. She couldn't. Either I hadn't been able to save her, or... or I'd failed her somehow, if she'd turned into the kind of person who _could_ kill someone..."

Phoenix's voice was getting very small. Miles sighed, and when he spoke, his own voice was very tight. "Why didn't you tell _me?_"

"I got myself tested, once I recovered. I was lucky - I came back clean - and you were always kind of obsessive about safe sex anyway, so if they-"

"That's not what I meant." Miles tried not to scowl at Phoenix. It wasn't Phoenix he was angry with. "I would have been more careful with you, once we became involved."

"And then I would have chickened out. I _wanted_ to have sex with you, Miles. I wanted it to be something I could enjoy, instead of something I had nightmares about. ...I didn't want you to be careful. I wanted you to act like a normal person, so I could feel like a normal person..."

Miles couldn't help reaching out again, trying to hold him, but Phoenix curled up and rolled away at his touch. "...Sorry," Miles muttered, settling back and away. "It's difficult to hear you speak of such things and not be allowed to try to comfort you."

"Yeah, just think how difficult it is to have actually gone through them and have to talk about them."

Miles clenched his fists in the comforter. "Do you want me to leave?"

Phoenix shook his head slightly. "I don't want to be touched right now... but stay with me. Okay?"

His head was still turned away and hidden, but his tone was one of honest need. Miles nodded. "I'll stay."

"Thanks."

Phoenix was still shaking so hard that Miles was vaguely uncomfortable sitting on the bed - it was shaking with him, and felt somewhat like the beginnings of an earthquake. He tried to think of other things. None of the other things that came easily to mind were pleasant, including some of his past work experience. He'd talked to rape victims before, when their attacker was going to be brought to trial. "...Just in case the thought had ever entered your head," Miles said after a brief pause, "this doesn't change how I feel about you. You're not 'dirty', you're not 'damaged goods' - you're simply a man who has been subjected to the worst in humanity." And had suffered with it in silence for years. How had he been able to _bear_ it?

There was a soft chuckle from Phoenix. "That wasn't what the 'don't want to be touched' was about, but thanks. Not that I ever thought you were the kind of person who would think that way."

"I'm glad." Miles took a deep breath. "...And if you're willing to file a report now, and help me identify the individuals in that video, I'll track them down and prosecute every single one of them."

Another soft chuckle. "No you won't."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"It was more than fifteen years ago. The statute of limitations has run out."

...Phoenix was right. Even if any of them could be identified positively, which seemed unlikely given the age and quality of the video, the case couldn't be taken to trial. Miles's teeth ground together in fury - it wasn't _fair_. At the moment, it didn't matter to him if he could properly prosecute them in a court of law - his only desire was to punish the people who had hurt Phoenix in such a terrible way, in whatever way he could.

There were recourses they could take, he told himself, trying to calm down. His wild, angry fantasy of hunting these men down and beating them bloody with his bare hands could never come to pass. But somehow, he _would_ make them pay, and do it in a legal fashion. "It doesn't matter," he told Phoenix. "I'll find justice for them somehow. Did you ever know who any of them were?"

Phoenix shook his head. "...I was at a bar, with Larry. Larry really only knows two things to do about girlfriend trouble - beer, and other girls. I was having one, he was off somewhere trying to acquire the other... Next thing I knew, I was blindfolded, lying on concrete. The blindfold didn't come off until sometime after I passed out, and I didn't recognize any of their voices. I guess if they were sleeping with the real Dahlia while I was dating Iris, we couldn't have been in the same social circles."

All of a sudden, Miles jumped, because chains were snaking out of the ether, wrapping themselves around Phoenix and locking. ...Of course, he thought, looking to his left. The magatama was on the nightstand. Which meant...

"You were blindfolded the whole time?" Phoenix nodded. None of those psycho-locks now, Miles observed. "And you didn't recognize a single voice?" Phoenix nodded again. ...There it was - a single red lock. Miles paused. Whatever secret Phoenix had, it wasn't deeply buried, but Miles recognized that he was already having trouble dealing with it. Did he really want to do this?

"...Understand that I want to help you," he muttered. "I'm not trying to cause you more distress."

"I appreciate it," Phoenix mumbled back, "but it was years ago. You can't exactly do anything about it."

"If you tell me whose voice you recognized," Miles stated, "I'll make sure that at least that person is brought to justice."

"You can't."

"I'll find a way," Miles insisted. He even thought he knew who it was, too, judging from Phoenix's reaction as they watched the video. "You recognized the voice of the person who wasn't in the video, didn't you? The one who was implied to be the one who suggested the... what they did to you," Miles finished awkwardly. He used the proper terminology all the time in his court cases, but applying a word like "gangrape" to Phoenix - his lover, his partner, little different than his _spouse_ by this time - was too much for him to handle.

Phoenix shook his head slightly. "It doesn't matter. Let it go."

"At the very least," Miles told him, growing frustrated, "if I can make sure that that single person can't hurt anyone else the way they hurt you-"

"They already can't, Miles."

"What makes you so..." Suddenly, the pieces all came together. He'd been so angry about what had been done to Phoenix that he hadn't been looking at the larger picture. For instance, where the video had come from.

"...Kristoph Gavin."

The single lock shattered, and Phoenix sighed a shuddering sigh. "I thanked him, Miles, for his belief in me. ...I _slept_ with him... I went to his funeral..."

"Phoenix..." Miles didn't know what to say. This defied all explanation.

"You know I never met him face to face until the day I was disbarred?" Phoenix continued. "By that time it had been so long, I'd mostly put it out of my mind. I'd been with you, I wasn't thinking about it that much. I wouldn't have recognized his voice when I was in college, it never occurred to me to think about it all those years later... it wasn't until just now that I realized it was him. And that's worse... worse than being reminded. Knowing that I was with him, I trusted him-" Phoenix's voice cracked "-and all that time he was hiding _that_."

And it was worse in his mind, Miles thought, than the statute of limitations having run out. It meant that not only could he not prosecute the man, or strangle him within an inch of his life, or even punch him in the face - he couldn't confront him at all, because he was already dead.

Miles was so far past anger, past fury, that he couldn't even think straight, and he closed his eyes, trying to take deep breaths. When he opened them again, Phoenix was still curled up on the edge of the bed, but it seemed like he wasn't shaking quite so much.

Still too much for Miles to be comfortable with. "...I wish I knew something I could do for you," he muttered, grudgingly, folding his hands in his lap so that they wouldn't be tempted to go elsewhere. "I've never been good at comforting anyone, Phoenix. I could only do it for you because comfort was such a simple matter with you - all it took was a touch. If it's more trouble than comfort now... I don't know what to do. I want to help, but I don't understand how I can do so."

"It's okay," came the muffled reply. "Just knowing you're here, and that you would, is good."

"...I'm glad."

They sat in silence for a little while, Phoenix's shaking gradually slowing, Miles's overwhelming emotional reaction to the revelation dissolving into a sickening numb sensation. Finally Phoenix rolled over, looking up to Miles. "Thanks for staying with me."

"What else could I possibly have done?" Miles grumbled, and instinctively raised a hand as he looked to Phoenix. He lowered it, seeing the brightness of his eyes, the dampness of his cheeks.

Phoenix caught the motion and in spite of everything, somehow smiled a little. "It's okay, Miles. I'm feeling a little better now."

In that case... Miles let his hand reach out again, touching Phoenix's wet cheek with his fingertips, tracing along the unshaven jawline as Phoenix sighed, closing his eyes in exhaustion. But when Miles started to draw back, he found his hand caught between Phoenix's all of a sudden, being tugged back. A good sign, he thought, and dared to settle himself in a reclining position on the bed, so that he and Phoenix were next to each other and face to face.

Those blue eyes were just a few inches from his, shining even more than usual, full of warmth and gratitude. Miles had always found Phoenix's eyes beautiful, the kind of eyes cosmetics companies would have killed for, even if they were beginning to crinkle at the corner. Almost feminine, with the thick, dark lashes, now stuck together with tears as Phoenix closed his eyes again and nuzzled against Miles's palm. Though still wary of triggering any further traumatic memories, Miles guessed that there were things he could do that Phoenix's attackers certainly wouldn't have done - like taking Phoenix's face carefully between his hands and kissing it, the eyes and nose and cheeks and temples. Phoenix only resisted enough to raise his head and meet Miles's lips, and he tasted more of salt than of himself, but Miles didn't mind, and kissed him back, gentle and slow, as Phoenix held onto his wrist.

When they settled back, Phoenix's eyes opened again, just a little. "Thanks," he murmured.

"We'll get through this," Miles told him, stroking his cheek more firmly.

Phoenix shook his head. "I've already gotten through it, Miles. I'm okay."

Miles wanted to say that his strong reaction tonight proved that he wasn't... but it hadn't been nearly so terrible a reaction as it could have been, and it was hardly surprising that he _would_ react. Which was, undoubtedly, what Kristoph Gavin had intended by leaving those instructions. Miles felt a surge of anger rising in him again, and tried to swallow it back down as Phoenix pulled his hand towards himself, resting it against his chest. "I think I need to try to get some sleep," he murmured.

Miles nodded, just letting him hold the hand there. "It should help you feel better," he agreed.

Phoenix's shaking had nearly stopped, aside from occasional, brief trembles, and then a shaky yawn. Miles just lay there, watching and listening as Phoenix relaxed, his breathing slowed and deepened, eventually turning into a slightly rough, raspy inhalation that Miles recognized as the sleep of a thoroughly drained man. And no wonder, after this.

He found, however, that he was nowhere close to sleep himself. It was an effort to even remain lying down when he was so deeply upset. After some time had passed, and he could be sure that Phoenix was deep in sleep, he carefully removed his hand from Phoenix's grasp and got out of bed.

The videotape was still in the VCR. With the same stony look he would have used to regard a defendant spewing pathetic excuses in the courtroom, Miles settled down in the center of the couch and picked up the remote he'd taken from Phoenix.

He made himself watch every second of the video. He listened for slips of the tongue - people calling each other by name, other indications of who the men might have been, at least at that point in time. He watched for distinguishing features, unusual clothing that might give them away. They wore the fashions of the time, unfortunately, with nothing more distinctive than a jacket bearing the logo of a professional football team.

At least eight of them had had their turn. Somewhere after the second, Phoenix had stopped struggling, and shortly after that stopped pleading, his voice having already grown hoarse. Miles had to stop the video several times before he was through, to stand up and leave the room and pace back and forth, trying neither to scream his rage or be sick.

Making matters worse, he was sure he recognized the quiet, breathy sounds coming from somewhere close to the camera, even before they gained the hint of a moan. His suspicions were confirmed when one of the men holding Phoenix down, who had largely been paying attention to their own doings, called out mockingly. "Hah - and look at _that_ fucking faggot, getting off from watching us."

"And that makes me a 'faggot', does it?" replied the voice that Miles now knew belonged to Kristoph, a bit more strained than it had been earlier. "Who exactly is it who's engaging in sexual intercourse with another man, now?"

Silence fell abruptly, so deep that the camera was picking up Phoenix's quiet, wheezing sobs. "Look," one of the men said, as a couple of them started making their way towards Kristoph, "if you're gonna be that way, then-"

"By the way," Kristoph remarked, perfectly calm, "this scene is being captured by a hidden camera. Everything you fine fellows have done thus far tonight has been transmitted to a remote location and recorded to a videotape." That got a reaction, and the other guys swore, getting to their feet. "I suggest that you make no attempt to detain me," Kristoph continued. "Seeing as I have left a note for my brother to find, should I _not_ return home unharmed by the morning, to keep said videotape safely hidden away."

This gave the men pause. Miles's fists clenched - if they'd come close enough, he might have gotten a good look at their faces. Of course, discovering that Kristoph had been beaten during the course of this scheme would have been nice as well.

"Go on, gentlemen, with your fun," Kristoph told them, waving a hand dismissively so that it passed in front of the camera. Miles wondered, if he paused it there, if he would see the 'devil' that Phoenix had spoken of. "I assure you, I will keep the videotape where no one can find it - so long as I remain safe, so will you."

Though visibly uneasy for a few minutes longer, the men did return to what they'd been doing, muttering that the guy was probably bluffing anyway, and eventually seemed to forget entirely, as Kristoph sat by, watching and presumably touching himself as he carefully recorded every moment of the assault. He seemed in particular to linger on the shots that troubled Miles the most - the close-ups of Phoenix's face, looking frightened and broken and eventually just blank.

It lasted for over an hour before the picture turned to static. Miles couldn't even be sure that was when the assault had ended, though it seemed likely that if there had been more, Kristoph would have included it. As furious as Miles was, he still rationalized his instinctive desire in that split second. He could afford another one, and Phoenix could get the morning news some other way tomorrow if he was interested. The fact that a destructive rampage was rather von-Karma-like was the only thing that kept Miles from putting his hand right through the television screen, and instead he stormed out of the house to take a walk.

When he'd calmed down somewhat, he returned and forced himself to check back on Phoenix, where he'd left him sleeping. Immediately he felt guilty for leaving - Phoenix's arm was stretched out across the side of the bed where Miles usually lay. He wasn't going to leave his side again that night, Miles vowed, after he took care of one last thing.

Returning to the living room, he took the videotape and placed it under some old paperwork in one of his filing cabinets - a place neither Phoenix nor Trucy were likely to stumble across it. What to do about it...? He would think about that in the morning.

* * *

Though Phoenix slept soundly, Miles was not so fortunate. He lay awake, haunted as he listened to Phoenix breathe at his side, unconsciously clasping the hand Miles had slipped under his. So peaceful, so _trusting_. Miles didn't understand.

But then, Phoenix had had fifteen years to come to terms with what had happened to him. Miles had only had a few hours, and he was the one who had nightmares when he managed to half-doze in the early hours of the morning, opening his eyes with a start and realizing it was a dream, and then realizing that it wasn't entirely. Still Phoenix slept, mercifully dead to the world, and to Miles's agitation.

Phoenix was still sleeping when day began to break, and Miles heard the beeping sound from across the hall, even through the two closed doors - one of which he then heard open, and shuffling footsteps made their way down the hall towards the bathroom. Miles looked to Phoenix and, with a sigh, decided he'd better get out of bed as well. Though what to do about today's work was beyond him, under the circumstances.

Trucy was always a little groggy first thing in the morning - but she perked up during the course of a shower, so by the time she came out to find Miles in the kitchen, going through the refrigerator, she was mostly her usual self. "Morning! And don't even bother asking me what I want for breakfast, we're out of everything except oats and dry cereal. And the milk's gone bad. So I'm having oatmeal," she stated, heading for the cupboard to get out a bowl. "Should I make some for you too? Or for Daddy?"

Miles had realized at some point earlier when he'd been lying awake that he was starving. But then, the mere thought of why he was lying awake had made him lose his appetite. "Thank you... I think I _would_ like some oatmeal." Or at least, he should eat something regardless of whether he actually wanted to, and he did his part by getting out the juice and two glasses. "I'm not certain what the entire shopping list might contain, but I'll be sure to at least pick up some milk today."

"Sounds good." Trucy had already gotten out another bowl, and a measuring cup, and the oats, but then she stopped to look at Miles. "How about Daddy? Is he getting up?"

Miles had no idea when Phoenix might be awake, if he already had slept this long. "Eventually, I'm sure. I'm capable of making him something when he finally rolls out of bed," he noted, keeping his tone light, "if I'm still home. Otherwise, I think he can handle oatmeal."

It didn't matter if he kept his tone of voice mild with Trucy, of course, and she frowned slightly at him as she finished measuring out the oats and went for the sink. "What happened last night? Is he okay?"

Miles honestly had no idea what he could say. "...He says he's fine," he admitted, sitting down at the table. "We both got something of a surprise late last night..."

"And not a good one, huh?"

Miles shook his head. "Trucy... I'll be blunt. It's not something that I want to talk about in front of you, let alone _to_ you."

Turning away from the faucet, she cocked her head, looking thoughtful. "So it's sex, or drugs."

Miles coughed. For all that she seemed flighty and distractable, Trucy was no fool, and she could be just as blunt as he was.

"Well, never mind, then," she said after a second, sticking the two bowls in the microwave. "I know _I'm_ not on drugs, and you and Daddy are both too smart to use drugs, and I'm not sleeping with anyone, so you'll get no surprises about sex from me - so it's something about you two and sex, and you know what? I don't think I want to know."

"...Thank you." At least in addition to being brighter than she might appear, much like her father - unlike her father, she was also sensible enough to let things drop.

"Unless," she added, looking away from the timer to regard him more seriously, "it's something so bad that you're going to break up."

She looked like she was going to say more, but Miles cut her off before she could take that train of thought any further. "It isn't. I promise - I'm not going anywhere, and I can't imagine why he would either."

"Good." She took a deep breath, visibly relieved, and smiled. "I'm pretty sure he's never been as happy as he has been since the two of you got back together. He's so relaxed now... And I like you an awful lot too, Uncle Edgey. I don't ever want to have to say goodbye to you."

Not enough to find him a better nickname, unfortunately, but Miles had stopped minding a long time ago. "Likewise, Trucy." And they spoke no more of it after the timer dinged, and they ate their oatmeal together in peace.

After Miles had made sure she had her lunch and her books and everything else she needed for the day, and quizzed her a little on geography on her way out the door, he closed the door and found himself in a house that was too quiet, too late in the morning for him still to be puttering around in a bathrobe if he was going to work. The key word being _if_ - he had no idea what frame of mind Phoenix might be in when he woke up.

Apparently not a bad one, because Phoenix was already awake when he returned to the bedroom, and rolled over to look at him as he sat down on the edge of the bed. "Morning... Getting started a little late, aren't you?"

_That_ was all Phoenix had to say? After Miles had been up most of the night in a rage on his behalf? "...I wasn't sure I should go in today," he admitted. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay," Phoenix said with a little shrug and a stretch, though his expression sobered a little. "Look... I'm sorry I freaked out on you last night."

"You were well within your rights to 'freak out'."

"Maybe, but... it's not like there was anything new on that tape," Phoenix told him. "More evidence that we did the right thing in regards to Kristoph, I guess. But otherwise, it's just the same memories I've lived with for years. They faded, seeing them on tape made them brighten right back up for a second... but they're still the same memories. It was nothing I didn't already know. I don't even know why it affected me so much. So... sorry for inflicting that on you."

"Wright," Miles grumbled, growing slightly frustrated, "this isn't the first time one of us has been witness to the other losing their head over incidents that happened fifteen years in the past. How many nights did you sit up with me, when I was still having those nightmares?"

"...Okay, I see what you mean. Still..."

Phoenix thought he should have been stronger. Miles knew that's what he was thinking, even if he wasn't saying it. "I've never understood," Miles told him honestly, "how you've managed to press on through everything you've endured. Even before knowing this. There was Dahlia, and Mia's death - which you wound up on trial for - my own issues and disappearance after the incidents with von Karma and Gant, having your career ruined due to trickery, finding out the one responsible was someone you considered a friend... and _still_ you've always acted as if it was all just part of life. You never stopped trusting people. No matter what terrible things were done to you, you would take it with a smile. But you _are_ entitled to get upset now and then," Miles pointed out.

"All right, all right..." Phoenix held up his hands in mock surrender. "It wasn't a crime to get upset. I get it. It's just that I'd rather not waste time being upset, if I can help it. A long time ago, I heard that saying, 'Living well is the best revenge'. And it is. You don't do yourself more harm, and you don't sink to the level of those who harmed you, and they're furious anyway when they have it proven to them that they have no power over you. That they haven't destroyed you, and they never will."

Miles had heard the saying many times, but somehow had never quite applied it to Phoenix. He had always seemed too good a man to want 'revenge' on anyone - justice, perhaps, but not revenge. ...Which proved his point, Miles supposed.

Also, for most of Phoenix's adult life, he'd been doing nothing that Miles could have called 'living well' - but Phoenix was getting to that.

"These last couple years, while we've been together, no interruptions... raising Trucy, steady work in the court system again, buying a house and moving in together," Phoenix continued, reaching up to take Miles's hand, "have been the best years of my life. I'm living well. I don't want to think about the people who have hurt me in the past anymore. All right? Just forget about it. All of it."

"I can't just _forget_ this," Miles muttered, staring down at the sheets. "You may have had fifteen years to make peace with this memory, but I haven't."

"And I'm the one who really _has_ the memory," Phoenix reminded him, starting to push himself upright, to nudge Miles's face up so they were looking each other in the eye. "And I'm past it." Phoenix's eyes sparkled mischievously for a moment as he smirked. "If you weren't already almost late for work, I'd prove it to you."

Miles had almost completely forgotten that he had work, and he glanced over at the bedside clock in surprise. "...You're sure you'll be all right?" he asked again as he started to get up.

Phoenix nodded. "I'll just keep myself busy today - staying busy helps. I think I need to buy groceries..."

"Someone does," Miles agreed, looking over the contents of their closet. He wasn't sure at all this was over, but for the time being, if Phoenix wanted to change the subject, he would let it be changed. "I already told Trucy I'd get milk, if you wanted to get whatever else we might be out of."

Phoenix continued lazing on the bed and talking nonchalantly about things they might have for supper while Miles got dressed; he sat up and stretched and followed Miles out to the door, he gave Miles a quick kiss before he turned away. Then, as Miles's hand touched the knob and began to turn, he found arms wrapped around him from behind.

"...I wasn't kidding," Phoenix told him, mumbling into the back of Miles's neck as his hands slid up under Miles's jacket. "I got past it - and you helped. So tonight, when you get home... while Trucy's still doing her show in town..."

Miles tried not to stiffen too much, as Phoenix's hands slid down again, over his hips, his inner thighs. "...I'll show you. Remember how enthusiastic I was the night after we put that bastard in prison?"

Miles certainly did, and whether or not he thought it was a good idea, the memory was a compelling one. "...I do."

"So let's celebrate again. The fact he can't do anything else to us." Phoenix left another kiss on Miles's neck before letting him go. "I know you've got to get going now... but I'll see you tonight, okay?"

Though uneasy, Miles turned his head to kiss Phoenix on the mouth before nodding. "I'll see you tonight."

But as his work day went on, he found himself filled more with anxiety than anticipation. His thoughts kept drifting to Phoenix, panting and moaning his name. And then drifted to Phoenix, panting and crying and pleading. He hoped he would get over it by the time his work day was through.

* * *

They'd both known each other too long to expect any sort of grand romantic plans to accompany an attempt at seduction. In fact, there was no sense in calling it an 'attempt' or 'seduction' at all - they'd settled comfortably into security with one another, each knowing the other wanted them in general (but sometimes not so much after a minor argument over who had left the kitchen sink such a mess), just as they were (though it was nice to at least make sure basic hygenic needs were met beforehand), and that they would welcome their partner's affection (if occasionally less so after a long, exhausting day of work).

Therefore, Miles wasn't surprised at all when he got home in the evening to find Phoenix sprawled out unceremoniously on the couch in a t-shirt and jeans, watching what would presumably be some politics-spattered talk show once it returned from a particularly obnoxious commercial break. At the sound of the door opening, Phoenix lifted his head from where it rested on his arm to look, and smiled. "Good, you're on time," he said, shifting to reach for the remote and turn off the television.

"In case you hadn't noticed by now, I usually am," Miles replied dryly, setting his briefcase aside and kneeling to take off his shoes. "And I wasn't aware we had a timeline."

"Not a very detailed one," Phoenix admitted, sitting up and scooting further down the couch. "Really, just one major point that had to be worked with."

"That being?" Miles inquired, smiling a bit as he settled in the space Phoenix had made for him.

Phoenix leaned over, resting his head in Miles's lap and smiling up at him in return. "We need to be done before Trucy gets home and is completely grossed out by the notion of her parents having a sex life."

"To be fair," Miles pointed out, peering down at him, "that _is_ a delusion that Trucy could live with better than most children, seeing as she's adopted - and thus it could be entirely possible that the couple she calls her parents had _not_ had sex."

"Do you _enjoy_ being pedantic?"

"Very much."

Phoenix laughed up at Miles's little smirk, and reached up to thread his fingers through Miles's hair. "Come on... if you're going to be so anal, you could at least do it in a more fun way."

"And I see you're already crude enough for both of us," Miles murmured, slipping his hand beneath Phoenix's head to support him, bending his own, though it was hardly a comfortable angle for anything just yet aside from looking. Which was all right - seeing Phoenix grinning up at him did a lot to dispel the lingering images from the night before.

Phoenix lifted his head despite the angle, and just barely managed to meet Miles's lips for a brief kiss. "So how was your day?"

Aside from spending a great deal of time being distracted by anger and concern and the desire to look up old cases to see if anything rang a bell? "Very... ordinary."

"Good." Perhaps Phoenix knew what was going on in his mind, judging from his somewhat sober reply. "That's exactly what I was hoping for tonight, too." Miles met his eyes and nodded. That was what he'd assumed.

Positions shifted, minute and gradual, as they exchanged small talk and small kisses; the day's news, what their options were for dinner, mild griping about the public transportation system. Such talk had ceased, naturally, by the time they were lying in each other's arms, one of Phoenix's legs locked around Miles. Not only would it have been ridiculous, but it would have interrupted their kissing, which by that time had grown far deeper and more important than any of the conversation they'd been having. The only conversational topic that was important enough to part them, in fact, was Phoenix's query about whether they might perhaps move to the bedroom?

As Miles paused to take off his jacket, he watched Phoenix, already seated on the bed, wriggling out of his t-shirt and looking thoroughly pleased. ...He didn't look at all put off by what they were doing. It was ridiculous to feel anxious about this, Miles told himself firmly, and hung up the jacket before settling on the bed next to Phoenix.

Almost immediately, Phoenix had him on his back, straddling his hips as he started to undo Miles's shirt. "I've been thinking about this all day, you know," he murmured, rocking back and forth just a little as he worked at the buttons.

"...Me too." Just not in the same way, it would seem, but that was changing. Miles had to suppress a moan.

"Any interesting ideas?"

Not that Miles could think of. "Whatever you'd like is fine with me."

"Great - the handcuffs and riding crop are under the bed already, but I'll have to get the chocolate syrup and strawberries out of the fridge."

Miles made an exasperated but still amused sound. "Chocolate syrup and strawberries, Wright?"

"I'm a little surprised," Phoenix commented, scooting back to open his fly, "that you seem more puzzled by that idea than by handcuffs and a riding crop."

...Miles didn't quite have an answer for that.

"But then again," Phoenix continued, rising up on his knees to get Miles's pants off, "you know I'm fine with plain vanilla."

So was Miles, as always - and though he generally believed that Phoenix took his jokes a little too far, he couldn't resist following up with his own addition. "Plain vanilla is fine, but only up to a point. Who's in charge of the topping tonight?"

Phoenix laughed openly for a moment. A happy Phoenix, Miles thought, was one of the best sights the world had to offer. His answer, however, came as a slight surprise. "Actually..." Phoenix mused, running a finger up the center of Miles's stomach to his chest to chuck him under the chin, "I was thinking you should do the honors. If you're up to it."

Miles was not only surprised, but a bit confused. "...Why wouldn't _I_ be up to it?"

"It _is_ more work," Phoenix pointed out, but then resettled himself playfully (and rather forcefully) atop Miles's now-bare hips and a half-hard cock. "Unless you want me to ride you."

...An interesting suggestion, Miles had to admit, but mostly one thing concerned him. "Are you sure you want to bottom?"

Phoenix nodded, and the playful look faded slightly. "It's nice sometimes to just lie back and be taken care of. I know you know what I mean."

He did, but... "...But so soon? After..."

What was left of the playful look turned slightly sardonic. "I dunno, Miles - maybe I'd better wait another _fifteen years_."

"...All right, you have a point," Miles conceded. "I'm just trying to be considerate."

"Don't be," Phoenix told him dismissively, reaching out to take both of Miles's hands in his. "Just be you. If something bothers me, I'll tell you."

"...Agreed," Miles murmured, as Phoenix tugged his hands forward, placing them on the waistband of the pants he was still wearing. The suggestion was obvious, and Miles started to unzip him.

Regardless of Miles's concerns, Phoenix didn't seem the slightest bit insecure about what they were doing. Once the last of their clothing was gone, it was Phoenix who pushed Miles back to a reclining position, lying atop him and kissing him till he could hardly breathe, straddling his waist in such a way that his arousal was unmistakable. He was the one who sat up and reached over to the nightstand, and he handed the condom and the lube to Miles himself, making it clear he'd meant what he said. ...Miles was fairly sure he was ready to believe it.

Once he'd prepared himself, with his fingers slick and Phoenix beneath him, Miles stopped to just look. Miles had always liked to look at Phoenix. To just stop, and look, and savor a sight that never got old, no matter how many times he saw it - in this case, the sight of Phoenix laid out on messy sheets, head tilted back, his jaw set, bare chest heaving and fingers clenching in the sheets as he braced himself.

It never got old, but... it seemed to be taking a different angle now.

There was absolutely no difference from the last time, Miles told himself, but clearly he wasn't listening. "You're ready?" he asked. Just to be sure.

Phoenix nodded, taking a deep breath. His body was tense, the look on his face desperate.

Miles couldn't help himself. "...You're sure?"

Blue eyes opened a sliver, peering up at Miles, and Phoenix puffed out a somewhat irritable sigh. "I'm _fine_, Miles. Have I ever _not_ been fine when I was with you?"

Fair enough. Miles nodded, and wrapped his hand around Phoenix's erection again, causing him to shiver. "Come on..." Phoenix whispered, reaching up to rest one hand on Miles's hip, encouraging him. "Go ahead." Despite the fact that Miles liked to look at Phoenix, this time he closed his eyes.

He heard the intake of breath, sharp and slightly pained, at the moment of penetration, as Phoenix's body initially resisted. He tried to remember to go slow, and not to think about what it must have been like when someone didn't bother taking the time to let their bodies adjust to the different pressures. Obviously Phoenix was all right now. Even if he did hiss a little through his teeth as Miles pressed in further.

...Probably.

Miles opened his eyes, regarding Phoenix with concern. "Phoenix...?"

"Come on," Phoenix murmured. "Do this for me, Miles."

Miles's response was a faint, affirmative grunt, as he braced himself and started to move. Phoenix gasped a little, and Miles watched his reactions carefully. The way his head tossed, the way his back arched, the faint moan on the edge of his breath.

...Miles shook his head and backed off, pulling out, and Phoenix groaned, opening his eyes to stare at Miles in confusion. Before he could say anything, Miles spoke. "I can't do this," he muttered, settling back on his heels, averting his own eyes.

"Miles..."

"I'm sorry."

Phoenix sighed, sitting up. "I told you I'd tell you if it bothers me."

"It bothers _me_," Miles admitted, starting to turn away. "After seeing what-"

He was stopped by a hand, gripping his shoulder tightly. "Miles, don't you fucking do this to me."

Miles looked up in surprise at the harsh words, at the unexpectedly angry tone of Phoenix's voice, and found Phoenix kneeling too, nearly glaring at him.

"You said you didn't see me as 'damaged', or - or 'dirty'-"

"I _don't_," Miles protested.

"I don't want you to see me as a _victim_, either," Phoenix told him firmly. "I was a victim _then_, sure, but I couldn't just sit around and feel scared and sorry for myself for the rest of my life."

"I realize that, but-"

"But it's a lot to process, right?" Phoenix was still breathing heavily, but he let go and shifted to sit a little more naturally, crossing his legs before him, leaning back on his hands. It made everything seem at least a little less intense. "Look - I had a lot more to process than you do. It took me _years_. And you know how far I came, because you've been here for the resolution. And that's why I'm okay now. Because it's you. Not them - _you_. It's good when it's you."

"...I understand." And that was the frustrating part - Miles _did_ understand. "It's just that I see you, like that..." He gestured vaguely at the mattress. "...And I can't help but think of..."

Phoenix drew in a sharp, painful breath. "Don't, Miles."

"I'm trying not to."

"Don't you realize," Phoenix told him, his voice tight, "what he was doing, getting that tape to me after he was gone? He was trying to get to me one last time. Trying to disrupt my life."

Miles found himself grinding his teeth. "But you won't let him."

Phoenix nodded. "But it's not just up to me. Sure, _I_ know his game, _I'm_ not going to be shaken. But you know what?" he asked, raising his eyes to Miles again. "You're letting him get to you. And if _you_ let him get to _you_, and it affects your ability to be with _me_? He's still disrupting my life. He _still_ gets exactly what he wanted."

Miles wasn't sure he'd ever seen such a look of determination in Phoenix's eyes, as Phoenix stared him down seriously. Not in the courtroom, not in the midst of the clashes they'd had in the past, before they'd settled down - not ever. "He's done enough to me already - _don't_ let him mess up my life again, Miles," Phoenix told him, reaching out to take him by the shoulders. "_Please_ don't."

With that look in his eyes, and his hands gripping Miles's shoulders... _that_ was Phoenix, Miles thought - that inner core of determination that had kept him pushing on through everything that had happened to him, everything that had gone wrong in his life. For all that Miles had been the one defending a crybaby classmate when the two of them truly met for the first time, Miles had no illusions that Phoenix was the weaker between them. And, as usual, Phoenix was correct.

...Miles didn't want to be the one to make Phoenix fail when Phoenix himself was succeeding. Not to mention, the intensity in Phoenix's eyes was entirely disarming. Miles took a breath, leaned in, and kissed Phoenix as if his life depended on it. Or at the very least, the normalcy of his life.

Phoenix kissed back just as hard - anger or perhaps just steadfast force of will causing him to bite at Miles's lip a few times, and Miles moaned as Phoenix started pushing _him_ back down onto the mattress.

He didn't even spare a moment to think, until the first time they came up for air and lay back clutching each other and panting for breath, about the fact that Phoenix had pushed him back towards the foot of the bed and therefore their feet had just been all over the pillows. Phoenix just laughed groggily and said he'd intended to wash the bedding before they really turned in for the night anyway. He then rolled Miles on top of him and told him that it was his turn now.

Miles _couldn't_ help thinking about the video, even as overwhelmed as he was - but unlike his complaints about the pillowcases, those thoughts he kept to himself and ignored. If Phoenix wasn't going to so much as acknowledge Kristoph's last act of cruelty, then neither would Miles.

At least, not in front of Phoenix. He had already been considering some of the possible courses of action in regards to what seemed to have been Kristoph's first known act of cruelty. Some of them, he could even get started on in the morning.

* * *

Having just finished up a trial and the documentation required in the aftermath, there wasn't much immediate work for Miles at the office, unless he wanted to take another case right away. He didn't, but he spent eight hours a day downtown regardless.

First, he reviewed every sexual assault report that had come in from April 2012 to March 2015. It was possible that if the men who had assaulted Phoenix had enjoyed themselves, they might have done it more than once, either before or after the incident Miles was investigating. When he found no other similar cases, he found himself disappointed - and then disgusted with himself for his disappointment. Over the lack of a lead, of course, not over the lack of yet another repulsive crime, but one was the same as the other.

The library had copies of records from Ivy University, and it was likely that Phoenix's attackers had been fellow students, particularly since they were associated with Dahlia. Lists of names did no good, since there was only one brief moment in the video where someone had referred to someone else present as 'Mike'. There were a great many people with that name, both students and otherwise, which didn't come as a surprise to Miles at all. Yearbooks were his next focus, from area high schools - but rows of pictures weren't any more useful than lists of names when he hadn't been able to make out any faces, and it was entirely possible any or all of the assailants, if students, might have come from out of state.

He knew all of this, but he looked anyhow. He _refused_ to admit that it was hopeless. The thought of the men who had hurt Phoenix still being free, never having been punished, made him feel physically ill.

Perhaps, he thought, reviewing the video again would provide him with a clue he'd missed. But every time he thought about it, every time he found himself at home in the evening, staring down at that drawer in his filing cabinet, the images of Phoenix, bound and helpless and crying, returned to him easily without any help whatsoever. He couldn't bring himself to actually watch it happen again.

He _had_ to do something, however. Despite all of Phoenix's assurances that he was fine, that he was over it, that he just wanted to ignore it and get on with living life - Phoenix was unhappy. He'd been unhappy ever since that night, though he made an effort to pretend otherwise, and he was becoming more so. Miles didn't intend to burden him with questions about the incident, or by telling him about his searching for useful information while it was still fruitless, but it made him all the more determined that he had to do _something_ to finally put the matter to rest.

Then one afternoon, shortly before Miles was intending to leave the library and go home, his cell phone rang, and it was Apollo's number. With a curious frown, Miles picked up, keeping his voice low. "Miles Edgeworth speaking."

"Hey, Uncle Edgey. It's me."

All the more curious. It wouldn't have had him worried, exactly, that she should be at her brother's, except that she didn't sound nearly as cheerful as she usually did. "Trucy. Is everything all right?"

"Um, I don't know." She paused, and Miles waited. "...Daddy's mad at you."

"He..." Miles hadn't expected that. "Why?"

"I don't really understand what's going on," Trucy admitted. "Neither does he, that's why he asked me to help out. But then when I did, he got really serious, and started talking about how maybe I should go spend some time with Polly. But it was really obvious - at least to me - that he didn't want me to be there when you got home."

Miles couldn't think of anything he'd done... unless Phoenix wasn't actually _angry_ at him, but upset in some other way. But that was unlikely, when Trucy's perception was almost always accurate. "How exactly did you 'help him out'?" he asked. Maybe there was a clue there.

"...I don't think I should get involved more than I already am," she said after a moment's hesitation. "You should just talk to him. And that's why I called - I know you've been working really hard and everything, and you're stressed out about it, so I didn't want you to go home not knowing what was going on and have everything blow up in your face, or anything like that. I just want you and Daddy to work this out so we can all be happy, and I know that's what you want too..."

Miles could almost hear the 'Right?', even though she didn't say it. "I do," he assured her. "I'll start for home and take care of it at once. ...Whatever's going on," he muttered under his breath. He could think of things Phoenix would be upset about, but not so much things that were his fault.

"I _knew_ you would," Trucy said, with obvious relief. "Thanks..."

"No - thank _you_ for letting me know," Miles told her, closing his books with his free hand in preparation for leaving. "I'm not so overwhelmed by my work that I'm inclined to ignore any concerns he may have, or to fly off the handle at him - but I appreciate being given some advance notice." Particularly as he still couldn't think of anything that Phoenix would be angry with him about, and it would have come completely out of left field.

"Yeah! Hey, maybe you could even pick him up some flowers or something on the way home!"

"...I suspect that would just make things look suspicious."

"Hmm, yeah, I guess you're right. Well, good luck!" Trucy finished. "See you later, Uncle Edgey... Love you, okay?"

"Love you too, Trucy," he murmured, sliding his notes back into a folder, to go into his briefcase. "I'll see you when you get home."

Perhaps her suggestion wasn't completely absurd, he thought to himself as he walked back to his car. He could bring _something_ home, certainly - not flowers, but a nice dessert, perhaps, which could be easily written off as having had a craving. And it would be something Trucy could share too; she deserved something nice for having thought to warn him. Though the simple fact that she'd felt she had to warn him about anything at all was a bit unnerving.

To that end, he was carrying a small box when he reached the house, courtesy of a bakery along the way, and it took him slightly longer to unlock the door. He had the distinct sensation, as he entered, that even if he hadn't been fumbling with the keys for long enough to give Phoenix some advance warning, Phoenix still would have been sitting there on the couch with the television off, looking at the doorway seriously, when he entered. "Hey..."

A standard greeting from Phoenix, if more subdued than usual. It seemed he wasn't on the verge of launching into a tirade about whatever was bothering him, and Miles offered a small smile in response. "I brought home dessert," he said, setting his briefcase aside at the door and showing Phoenix the box. "It seems like a long time since we've had carrot cake."

"Yeah... Now that you mention it, it has."

Phoenix got up and followed Miles as he headed for the kitchen, and Miles heard a faint sigh from the doorway as he set the box on the counter. "...I apologize if I've seemed distant lately," Miles muttered, just standing there and staring at the wooden countertop, which he had to admit probably didn't help. "Work has been frustrating... I've had a great deal on my mind."

"...About that, Miles."

So _that's_ what he was upset about? It seemed odd, all things considered. "I've tried to at least make sure to come home on time," Miles added, looking up to a serious gaze. "I'd prefer not to neglect you and Trucy."

"I noticed," Phoenix told him. He looked slightly defensive all of a sudden, standing there in the doorway with his arms folded. "You've been home exactly at the usual time every night for two weeks. Not early, not late - exactly at the expected time."

"...Is that a problem?"

"It wouldn't be... if you were actually at your office. Or the courthouse. Or anywhere it would make sense for you to be."

Miles frowned slightly, and tried to think of something to say in response. The only thing that came to mind was a retort about Phoenix checking up on his whereabouts, which was both argumentative and baseless - there were valid reasons for Phoenix to call his office.

"Now... don't get me wrong," Phoenix began. "It's not like I thought you were having an affair or something. I know you too well. Besides, it seems like affairs are usually to relieve tension," he remarked, tilting his head thoughtfully. "You've just been getting more and more tense. And... I already knew why you've been a little reluctant when it comes to sex, even if all my efforts to convince you I'm _fine_ don't seem to have set your mind at ease yet."

Miles had _thought_ he'd been doing a decent enough job of pretending it wasn't bothering him any longer. But then again, he frequently forgot that Phoenix had picked up some of Trucy's tricks. It wasn't enough to be good enough to fool a normal person. "I'm working on it," he admitted quietly.

Phoenix's eyes narrowed, and he shook his head, uncrossing his arms and sticking his hands into his jacket pockets instead. "I don't think you are. I think you're working on the exact opposite."

"Hmm?"

With a wry smile, Phoenix removed his right hand from his pocket, and held up the magatama. "I was always better with this than you were," he observed, sticking it back in his pocket. "I could tell right away that you weren't spending the whole day at work every day, and that it wasn't your job that was stressing you out like you said. I just couldn't pinpoint what _was_ stressing you out, until I enlisted some help."

Miles knew at once what he was referring to, having been tipped off. "Trucy?"

Phoenix nodded. "I asked her if she could figure it out, if she could spot something that might indicate what had you preoccupied. And she noticed that when you were home, you sometimes spaced out and stared at one particular place. That being a file cabinet full of old paperwork. And, it would seem, one other thing..."

Even knowing what was coming, Miles twitched a little when Phoenix showed him what was in his left pocket - the videotape. "Why were you keeping this?"

_That_ would be why Phoenix was angry with him, then. "I didn't want to force you to talk about it," Miles began.

"There's _no reason_ why either of us should talk about it," Phoenix stated, tossing it to land with a clatter on the kitchen table. "It's over and done with. I was hoping you'd thrown it away. If you hadn't, I was going to burn it. Why does it still exist, Miles? I mean, you weren't intending to watch it again, were you? It's not exactly America's Funniest Home Videos."

Miles was speechless. "...How could you even... How...?"

Phoenix turned his head away, glaring holes in the videotape itself instead of Miles. "No, I _don't_ really think you kept it because you wanted to. You've got another reason."

And Miles was fairly sure that Phoenix already knew what that reason was. "...It's evidence."

"For a case that can never be taken to court."

"I _do not_ accept it," Miles stated. "The idea that those men can do something like that, and get away with it-"

"You know more about the law than I do," Phoenix told him stonily. "And even I know that there's no chance of a trial for a crime committed that long ago. Even if you _can_ find those men - what exactly do you intend to do about it?" Miles found he didn't have a ready answer for that.

"I can't actually be mad at you for wanting to punish people who did something terrible. Especially when they did it to me." Phoenix breathed a faint, bitter laugh. "Believe me, I understand how that feels. I've never been more furious in my life than I was at von Karma, when he was standing across the room trying to reaffirm that you killed your father, both he and I knowing that you didn't - but that you believed him anyway."

"Manfred von Karma was successfully charged and sentenced," Miles reminded him.

"But even that didn't bring your father back," Phoenix insisted, "and it didn't stop the nightmares, and it didn't put an end to the neuroses that he cultivated in you as he tried to raise you to be just like him. That's what's going on right now, in fact - I can sense all that tension in you, getting worse and worse every day that this hopeless investigation of yours is dragging on, and why is it getting worse? Because you can't deal with a crime going unpunished. You're _obsessed_ with prosecuting these people."

Miles couldn't refute that, but... "Why do you see this as a bad thing?"

"In a general sense, it's not. But the thing about prosecution is, it only comes after the crime. The crime was already committed, the damage was done. In this case, the damage has _healed_, mostly, even if now and then I'm reminded. Unless you can actually, through some miraculous feat of investigation, come up with the identities of the people who hurt me all those years ago and find a way to put them on trial, there's no sense in even thinking about it. So the only thing about this that's still hurting me is the fact that _you_ can't let go of it."

Miles caught himself about to snap, and instead made himself take a deep breath. After letting it out, he let himself go to the table, pulling out a chair to sit down with his head in his hands. "I'm sorry. But as long as there's a chance, I can't let it drop."

He heard Phoenix shift, and half expected he was about to walk out. Instead, a few moments later, he felt hands resting on his shoulders, squeezing and rubbing the tense muscles. "You aren't the only one who's affected when you're in a terrible mood, you know. Trucy and I feel it too."

"I'm sorry," Miles repeated, letting his head droop further. The movement of Phoenix's hands were soothing, relaxing in spite of everything, and he suddenly felt exhausted. "...You couldn't understand - you've never been a prosecutor. ...Or a von Karma."

"And thank goodness. I'm pretty sure we'd both be completely screwed then."

The irreverent words and the tone of Phoenix's voice should have made Miles want to laugh. On the other hand, if he had been a man who knew how to cry, he was sure that was what he would have been doing. "There's still a chance," Miles murmured. "I can find them. I _will_ find them."

"You know what? I can't stop you." The hands on Miles's shoulders dropped away abruptly, and he heard Phoenix's footsteps as he turned away - only going to the cupboards, though. "Like I said, I can't really be mad that you're trying to bring about justice, especially on my behalf. And if you can pull it off somehow... I guess I can go over the whole thing another time. I'll testify, whatever. But the longer this goes on, and the more frustrated you get, the more it wears on all of us."

"I won't let it go on much longer," said Miles, amidst the bright metallic sound of silverware clanking as Phoenix rummaged in a drawer. "I should be able to find a way to do this quickly."

"I sure hope so."

Another click, of silverware on stoneware, and then the duller sound of paper. Finally Miles lifted his head and turned to Phoenix, to see him slicing the carrot cake he'd brought home. "...I suppose under the present circumstances, I shouldn't be lecturing you about having dinner before dessert."

"This whole situation makes me lose my appetite," Phoenix commented, carefully lifting a narrow wedge of the cake out to set it on a plate. "I don't even really want dinner now - but maybe if I can coerce my stomach by giving it something really good, it'll decide an actual meal might be a good idea." He glanced over his shoulder. "Do you want a piece?"

Miles shrugged helplessly. "...Why not?"

Once Phoenix had brought the plates to the table, Miles picked at his cake with indifference, and Phoenix nibbled at his almost absently, swiping up crumbs and stray frosting with the edge of his fork as he went. The squeaking set Miles's teeth on edge, but he tried to ignore it. "This is pretty good," Phoenix acknowledged, his fork slicing off larger and larger chunks as he worked his way through. "I always forget how good carrot cake is, for some reason."

Miles nodded, his mind elsewhere as he toyed with his own piece. "...One week," he murmured. "I'll work on this for one more week. If I haven't found a way to resolve it by then..."

"I can't tell you what to do," Phoenix admitted, spearing the last forkful of cake, "and I can't make you stop. But..." Swallowing the last bite, he turned his eyes to the videotape that sat between them. "I look forward to destroying that, once and for all."

Miles just nodded again. "I'm sorry I hid my actions from you. I didn't want you to have to deal with anything related to the incident again, unless it was to finally put those men behind bars."

"And as much as I really don't want to have to deal with it again even for that," Phoenix admitted, staring down at the empty plate before him, "it's better that they don't get away with it, for public safety's sake. One of them, or all of them, could do something like that again."

Silence fell, Miles still poking at the remaining half of his piece of cake, Phoenix looking at the empty spot where his own had been. Finally, Phoenix pushed his chair back and stood up. "Okay, that was _really_ good."

Miles just looked up at him, momentarily puzzled, as Phoenix took his plate to the counter. "Ah... What were you thinking of for dinner, then?"

"Actually?" Phoenix grinned a little as he reached into the box again. "Another piece of cake."

Miles managed to muster up an exasperated look. "Cake is not dinner, Phoenix."

"_Carrot_ cake has vegetables in it," Phoenix pointed out, licking the cream cheese frosting off his fingers. "And since you got the good kind, it has raisins too. And nuts for protein... How is it _not_ a good dinner?"

Phoenix was excellent at diversion, and at going off on tangents. It had been a constant source of annoyance when they were on opposite sides of the courtroom, but at the moment, Miles didn't mind - now that he was distracting Miles, Miles had to admit that the cake _was_ especially appetizing. In fact, by the time Trucy got home late that night, there was very little left to offer her as thanks.

* * *

The odd thing was that Phoenix had accepted his offer. He should have known by now that Miles couldn't 'let things drop' any more than he did, particularly when it came to prosecuting criminals. The only reason Miles had stated that he would continue his investigation for only one more week was because he had something in mind. He had a plan, which was nearly foolproof.

He had intended to exhaust all other options before putting it into play, however, because not only was he somewhat uncomfortable with it, but he knew Phoenix would be against it. It was no wonder, after that incident at Hazakura Temple. Miles, however, intended to take as many precautions as was possible. That included making a phone call the next morning - from work, so that Phoenix wouldn't know about it. It was best to get things moving as quickly as possible, because assuming it did work (and Miles was certain that it would), he would have a bit more investigation to do, and a few preparations to make, before he could look Phoenix in the eye and tell him that he _had_ them.

The next morning, when he greeted Maya at the bus station, she was still a little dubious. It was obvious that Miles wasn't telling her everything about why this was necessary... but he said it was for Phoenix's sake, and she knew Miles loved Phoenix at least as much as she did, so it wasn't like what he intended could be something wrong. Miles simply nodded, and tried to ignore the nagging doubts in his own mind. This _was_ important.

Less than an hour later, they were kneeling in the Channeling Chamber, Miles carefully but firmly binding Maya's hands and hobbling her ankles. Pearl was stationed just outside the locked door, where Miles could reach her easily should there be a problem. He refused to let her stay in the room; a girl her age should not have to hear the things they were going to be discussing. Maya had suggested then, briefly, that perhaps Pearl should do the channeling and _she_ should stand by, but the thought of imposing such a thing on the girl made Miles uncomfortable. Best to leave it to the Master.

As the Master, Maya had put aside the shorter, more simple garb of an acolyte. For ceremonies such as this, she wore finer, more elaborate robes that seemed to imply maturity and authority - belied by her almost submissive posture as she knelt before Miles, hands behind her back, head bowed in concentration. When her head rose again, and her eyes opened, they were not hers.

Maya's face had become less round, her eyes narrower. They were still dark, but seemed to fog over briefly, and Miles wondered how deep the changes ran - if those eyes could still see him as well as Maya's, or if they felt the lack of corrective lenses. Though her hair was still dark, it moved as she shifted to sit back, taller than she had been previously, and Miles could see the bit of hair that hung over her shoulder had curled into a spiral. The smirk, as well, was an expression Miles would never have seen on Maya's face. "Well, well..." drawled a deeper, exceedingly polite voice. "Isn't this a lovely surprise...? I'd hardly expected _this_."

Somehow Kristoph seemed to make the position seem almost regal, kneeling there in ancient formal garb with his hands tied. Perhaps it was the arrogance in the way he held himself. Never being one to back down from a challenge, Miles simply inclined his head in a similarly polite greeting. "I must ask, then - what _were_ you expecting?"

"Nothing at all," Kristoph replied easily, though Miles saw his shoulders flex beneath the robe as the man tested his bonds. "Despite the priests' best efforts, I could never bring myself to believe in heaven or hell."

Miles bristled. "That is abundantly obvious from the way you lived your life. I haven't called you up to debate philosophy or theology, of course."

"No, I _certainly_ wouldn't have expected that." Kristoph's slight, almost imperceptible movements stopped, as he apparently recognized that his restraints were sound. "I'm inhabiting the body of one of the Fey girls, I presume? How odd - I wouldn't have thought Phoenix would ask a friend to take such a vile spirit as myself into their delicate mortal shell."

"He didn't."

"I see..." Kristoph met Miles's eyes, staring intently. "That would explain why Phoenix doesn't seem to be present, if you've gone behind his back." Kristoph lowered his head a bit, chuckling to himself. "This is also unexpected. Why have _you_ called my spirit back from beyond the grave, Miles Edgeworth?"

Miles wanted to retort, but held his tongue. True enough that Phoenix wouldn't have approved of what he was doing. "Your brother carried out an apparent last request on your behalf," Miles stated, deciding to simply get to the point. "A videotape, which you had instructed him to give to Phoenix after your death."

"Ah, of course. So he shared it with you." Kristoph's smile quirked at the corners, and Miles could see the gleam of white teeth. "Did you enjoy it? _I_ most certainly did. Many... many times."

Miles took a deep breath and reminded himself that Kristoph had already been executed. "I require some information from you."

"That recording gave me such pleasure, each time I watched it," Kristoph continued, ignoring him. "The helpless struggling, the pathetic whimpering... Isn't Phoenix beautiful when he cries? The first time I laid eyes upon him, I thought to myself - how exquisite would his pain be? And then, to see him cry, so hard and so long..." Kristoph drew in a sharp breath, his smile turning blissful. "When he actually fell into my arms so many years later, crying over his ruined career, crying over _you_, it was a dream turned to reality."

Trying neither to cringe or to lose his temper, Miles ground his teeth and repeated himself, louder but still even. "I have called you here for a reason, Gavin. I need to know who those men were."

"You know," Kristoph mused, "I envy you. I can only imagine what a state he was in after seeing that video, and having all those memories come rushing back. Did he cry for you? Did he shiver helplessly at your touch? Does he _still_ shy away-"

Kristoph's fantasizing was halted by Miles punching him square in the nose. After steadying himself, shaking his head to clear it, Kristoph chuckled softly under his breath. Miles didn't care and got to his feet, breathing heavily, pacing with arms crossed. "You are going to tell me who those men were - the ones who you enlisted to assault Phoenix."

"Am I?"

"Yes."

"I'm not so sure about that as you seem to be," Kristoph replied lightly.

"Tell me." Miles was firm.

"What are you intending to do to them?" Kristoph asked, turning his head to raise an eyebrow at Miles. "Are you trying to find justice for your beloved? I believe it's too late - how many years has it been now...?"

"There are ways," Miles stated. "The statute of limitations _can_ be circumvented, with some effort."

"Hmm, of course - it's been done before, hasn't it?" Kristoph pondered. "Not so often, however, since a certain police chief was incarcerated..."

...As a matter of fact, Prosecutor Skye _was_ the one who had first brought the loopholes to Miles's attention, no doubt at Gant's direction, given that the trials they had brought about had later been reviewed by the inquiry committee he'd faced. "Those particular methods are perfectly legal," Miles retorted, fighting back a shiver, "and I will use them to prosecute criminals who have evaded their rightful punishment for entirely too long."

"That's assuming," Kristoph pointed out, "that I'm willing to name names. Those young men and I had a gentleman's agreement, you realize."

"There's nothing gentlemanly about any of you," Miles growled, "or about blackmail." Rapidly growing tired of Kristoph's patronizing behavior, Miles finally just stepped behind him, clenching a fist in his hair. "Tell me their names, Gavin."

"Blackmail might not be particularly gentlemanly, but it _is_ quite effective," Kristoph reasoned calmly. "Do _you_ have anything so useful up your sleeve with which to coerce _me_?" His breath caught briefly as Miles's hand jerked his head back roughly, but his smile remained. "It's difficult to coerce the dead, Mr. Edgeworth. We have little to gain, and nothing to lose."

"I want their names," Miles repeated.

"I'm sure you do."

The smug look was gone from Kristoph's face for a moment, when it was shoved with great force into the floor before him. Miles knelt over him, holding him down with one hand, gripping his hair and pulling his head back with the other. "Names, Gavin. Now."

Despite the fact that there was now a trickle of blood leaking down from his nose to his upper lip, Kristoph simply laughed quietly - louder when Miles yanked his head back even harder. "Tell me!" Miles demanded.

Kristoph continued to laugh. Miles wondered if the man had somehow become _less_ sane. "I know you don't give a damn about those men," Miles hissed. "Why are you protecting them?"

"Protecting...?" Kristoph's voice was somewhat strained, likely from the uncomfortable angle his neck was now bent back from his spine. "I'm not protecting anyone at all. I'm simply enjoying the sight of my revenge being brought to fruition in an even more delightful way than I had expected."

Abruptly Miles pushed his head down again. "I hope you're enjoying the sight of the floor as well."

"Very much," Kristoph mumbled.

His lip was bleeding now too, when Miles leaned down to look him in the eye. "As for your revenge," he stated, "it didn't work. Phoenix is stronger than you think - he'd already come to terms with all the pain you inflicted on him, and he'd gotten over it. You think his _pain_ was pleasurable? You should have seen the way he made love to me the next evening, refusing to let you and your sadism interfere with his life. He _refused_ to let you go on hurting him. He moved on, he survived - he's _alive_, Gavin," Miles snapped, letting his fury direct his words. "Your revenge went nowhere. He's alive, and you're dead. He won, and _you lost_."

"Did I?" Kristoph started to laugh again, faintly. "Look at yourself, _Prosecutor_ Edgeworth - you're going behind your lover's back, using methods he would never approve of, to seek out your guilty verdict. A verdict which will never be reached - even if you _do_ use those disingenuous methods which Damon Gant passed along to you, and the admission that you were actually _considering_ them only proves that the man was right about you. You will never bring those men to justice, because I will not tell you their names. And you have no way of forcing me - or did you forget, Prosecutor Edgeworth, that the body you're presently damaging belongs not to me, but to your friend Ms. Fey?"

It took a moment for the words to register. Miles's eyes widened when they did, and he drew back, a deep breath hissing between his teeth at what he'd done. True that he'd spent most his life avoiding thinking overly much about the Kurain technique, but he'd spent time around Maya and her cousin. He knew how it worked, even if their appearances changed; _he himself_ had investigated the truth behind the death of Misty Fey.

Kristoph was laughing even harder, even as he lay face-down on the straw mat. "Perhaps my revenge didn't take quite the form I'd planned, but a suitable revenge it was, nonetheless. I can only imagine what Phoenix would think of one of his two _dearest_ friends causing harm to the other. And all those times he defended you to me, telling me you were _not_ like Gant, or like von Karma... Yet what have you become? You've made your sweet Phoenix into a liar, Edgeworth."

Miles was stunned by the truth of his words, staring down at the bound, bleeding body before him. "Yes," Kristoph said with a smile, "I would say that I most _definitely_ have not lost."

His laughter seemed still to be ringing throughout the room even after that body had gone briefly limp, only to shift and grow smaller within the layers and folds of the robes, and Maya's own eyes squinted up at Miles painfully. "Ow... I guess that didn't go so smoothly?" When Miles said nothing, only continued to stare at her, horrified, she squirmed slightly. "Uhm, if we're done here...?" Coming to his senses, Miles reached for her hands, untying the knots as quickly as he could manage. He shook his head, trying to clear it, but it wasn't working.

"Hey... what happened?" Maya asked with concern, ignoring the blood dripping down her own face, the swollen lip, the bruise beginning to darken her temple. "You're shaking. And you look like you... well, actually, no - you look worse than most people who've just seen a ghost. I should know."

Miles couldn't bring himself to tell her what he'd done. "I'm sorry," was all he said, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and offering it while he got to work on the rope around her ankles. "I should never have asked you to do this. Phoenix wouldn't have."

"Maybe not... but you did, and I know you had his best interests at heart." Maya winced as she dabbed at her bloody lip, looking up at Miles over the handkerchief. "...Hey... are you okay?"

Miles had no answer but to apologize again, and open the door to ask Pearl to bring some ice water and a washcloth.

* * *

Miles stayed long enough to tend to Maya's wounds - all minor, she assured him, but _what_ had happened? That was why he only stayed long enough to make sure she was taken care of, and then left at once. He didn't want to give any more detailed answer than his previous statements that he should never have asked such a thing of her, and that he was sorry. He shrunk away from admitting what had happened, even to himself.

The bus that would take travellers from Kurain to the next town with a train station wouldn't be by for another hour, so he decided to walk. It was only a few miles anyway. And despite his need to get away from what he'd done immediately, he had no desire to go back and face Phoenix right away.

Unfortunately, doing nothing but walking left him with a lot of time to think. Thinking wasn't the last thing he wanted to do, but it was close - and after a great deal of thinking, he still didn't know what to do. No matter how far he walked, no matter how much time he wasted with a cup of mediocre tea in the cafe by the train station, watching trains come and go and wondering if he might get on the next one. The waitress looked wary each time she came over to ask if he was all right, if he needed anything, so Miles supposed he was glaring. He had that tendancy, even when he couldn't turn that glare on what he was really furious with. In this case, he was unable to glare at himself.

The one certain conclusion he could come to was the one he came to nearly at once, well before hours of soul-searching had passed, and he kept coming back to it: Phoenix had been right. As usual. If he didn't love the man, he would absolutely loathe him.

So Phoenix was right, and he was wrong. What Miles didn't know was what he should do about that.

The trains were coming and going more frequently, due to the evening commute, by the time Miles finally decided to take one. A half hour into the ride, his cell phone beeped, finally having picked up enough of a signal again to let him know he had voice mail.

"Hey, it's me," Phoenix's voice said, and the slight static almost made it seem warmer. "I guess you're off working hard, huh? Well, I got done a little early, and I'm not really in the mood for sitting around by myself at home, so I'm going over to Larry's for awhile, and we'll probably go hang out somewhere. Don't worry, we won't do anything stupid. Or at least _I_ won't - I can't speak for him. Heh... So anyway, just wanted to let you know where I was, if you get home and I'm not there. I'll see you when you get there. Or when I get there, or whatever. ...Don't work _too_ hard, okay? Bye."

Miles closed his eyes, inwardly cursing himself for a fool. Despite his instinctive need for solitude when he was particularly miserable, he was in no mood to go home to an empty house himself. And of course Phoenix had a good reason not to like being at home alone right now, which Miles hadn't considered while he wasted so much of his time sitting in a cafe. Not to mention the time he'd wasted on this entire investigation.

And it had been a waste. That was the worst part. All this time and effort, the strain on him and on Trucy and on Phoenix - who was the last person he wanted to add more stress to, especially now - to say nothing of what he'd done to Maya. And where did he now stand? Where was his case? Deep in his heart, he'd known all along that he didn't have one. even if he'd been successful in getting names. Not without bending the law to suit his own ends, just like Gant and von Karma had done, and Kristoph being right about him was _far_ worse than Phoenix being right, but he _was_. Miles had persisted anyway, and why?

The fact that he knew why, and he still believed it, was precisely why he didn't know what to do now, and why that part of him, two hours later, felt relieved to know that he was walking up a dimly lit driveway to a dark and empty house. Trucy would be in town preparing for her show, Phoenix would be off laughing with Larry at some noisy bar, and there was no one he would have to look in the eye before he could stand to look at himself in the mirror. That was a good thing, because it might take a while.

This comforting line of reasoning was overturned abruptly as Miles opened the door, and immediately saw a light on in the living room, accompanied by the quiet sound of singing. There was something old and black and white on the television when Miles entered - either a musical, or the middle of an 'I Love Lucy' rerun, judging from the content - and a spiky-haired head rose to peer over the end of the couch. Phoenix's mouth almost smiled, but stopped halfway. "...Judging from the look on your face, I guess you're not late home because you found a lead."

Miles shook his head slightly. He wasn't sure what to say about it yet. "I thought you were going to be out with the Butz?"

"I was, for a little while." Phoenix started to sit up and scoot over, and flipped the television off. "I figured out almost immediately that I wasn't really in the mood to hear about the girl that modeled for him last week. In detail."

"Mm..." Despite the fact that Phoenix was obviously making room for him to sit, Miles just stood there, his hand resting on the back of the couch.

"Plus." Phoenix's eyes stayed on him. "You'd never been home late before, through all of this, or couldn't be reached at your cell number. If I got a call telling me you wanted me to come in and take a look at someone... well, the middle of a crowded bar isn't a great place to get those kinds of calls."

Miles knew Phoenix was right. He'd decided it hours before, but it was still near impossible for him to say it. If he said it, he'd be committing to it, and every part of his mind that had listened to von Karma's tirades, years and years of black and white without a shade of grey to be seen, told him that he was weak.

"Miles...?"

Miles took a deep breath, and made himself sit down. "...Do you truly want me to stop the investigation?"

Phoenix shrugged slightly. "I can't make you-"

"Do you _want_ me to?"

For a moment, Phoenix looked slightly taken aback by Miles's intensity. "Yes."

"All right." Then that was that. "I'm putting an end to it now, then."

"Great." Phoenix nodded briefly, and raised his arm to rest along the back of the couch, behind Miles's head. How could he just _accept_ it, Miles wondered, watching his eyes wander back towards the blank television set with a faint smile.

"By the way," Phoenix added, glancing back at him, "that was a lie."

Miles stiffened. "Then why did you-"

"I don't really care so much whether you investigate the incident or not," Phoenix explained. "If you actually somehow caught those guys... well, that would be good. If you could prosecute them, it would be amazing. I'm all for that. It's next to impossible, but I'm still all for it. On the other hand, it's pretty obvious that _something_ happened today. And now _you_ want to end it. You just don't want it to be your fault that it's over."

Miles gave up, dropping his head into his hands. How was it that as time went on, Phoenix seemed more and more an enigma to him, but he grew more and more transparent to Phoenix? "You honestly don't mind," he said finally.

"No, I don't. What I objected to, specifically, is you making yourself crazy on my behalf. And what I want, also specifically, is to let things get back to normal."

"It's not entirely on your behalf," Miles stated, his head still buried in his hands. "A crime as heinous as that _can't_ go without punishment."

"Yeah, it's not like any other crimes have _ever_ gone without punishment in this town," Phoenix remarked. "If that was your motivation, you'd come home from work miserable, every single day."

There had been times, of course. When he'd read the report and subsequent investigation notes pertaining to a young defense attorney's murder in the courthouse cafeteria, he'd been so wound up that he spent the whole night pacing, and the whole next day haunted. It had hit him again, years later, when he realized that having let Dahlia Hawthorne, his _own witness_, evade him during his first trial had nearly resulted in the death of the man who was now sitting beside him, resting a comfortable hand on his back.

Miles shuddered under his touch. "It's terrible enough when I don't have a personal stake in it. When I do..."

"I know," Phoenix told him, leaning over to wrap an arm around his shoulders. "You're hard enough to stop when a case is just business as usual - and I should know, huh? I'm glad I never had to face you under circumstances like these. I bet you're unstoppable."

And that was what was troubling Miles the most - he _could_ be unstoppable. He had already pushed too far, and he'd been intending to take it further still. And despite his horror over what he'd done, the colder, clinical part of his soul was still insisting that he was weak for not having finished the job.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Phoenix asked finally. "What happened today, I mean. I know I said I didn't want to discuss the case unless it was actually going to be tried, but..." Miles felt him shrug. "It's obvious that something happened you weren't expecting."

Actually, Miles had considered it almost from the outset, so it wasn't entirely unexpected. He'd even considered roughing the man up intentionally if he was uncooperative, though he'd written it off as an unnecessarily emotional urge. Not that that urge had gone away, it would seem. And in light of his realization that Phoenix really _had_ had the better idea about what it took to win against Kristoph, he wasn't sure it wouldn't be self-defeating to admit to his error in judgment. "...If I tell you," he stated, "you'll be very disappointed in me."

To his surprise, not to mention irritation, Phoenix laughed under his breath. settling back again. "What?" Miles asked, raising his head to peer at Phoenix.

"It's not a problem," Phoenix told him. "I mean, throughout the years since we met again, since we've been together? You've disappointed me _lots_ of times. You always make up for it, and I still love you."

Sadly enough, Miles recognized how true his words were - he'd done some incredibly foolish things in the past, particularly towards the beginning of their relationship. "Such as faking my own death and running off to Europe?"

"Yeah, things like that. But you're still here," Phoenix pointed out, leaning in to briefly kiss the end of Miles's nose, "so I don't think you've done anything _that_ disappointing this time."

Normally, that smile Phoenix was giving him would be infectious. Even now, it was enough to make him feel just a little better, more encouraged. He didn't want to disappoint Phoenix... but he didn't want to keep secrets from him either. "...I asked Maya to channel Kristoph."

So much for Phoenix's smile - it seemed to drain right out of his face, leaving it startled. "...Miles..."

"I was hoping he would give me names. What a foolish thing for me to presume," Miles muttered, lowering his head again, "that he would cooperate so easily. He laughed in my face, and told me himself that you can't punish the dead - I couldn't do more to him than had already been done. And then, when he fled-" This was the part he knew Phoenix would be most disappointed by, for multiple reasons. "-the bruises I'd left on him were still present on Maya."

He didn't want to look up. If Phoenix's eyes were angry, he deserved it. If they held compassion, as he thought was the more likely option, he _didn't_ deserve it. And Phoenix was saying nothing to give away what he would see. In the silence, Miles took a deep breath, and let it out again tiredly.

Finally Phoenix spoke. "How badly was she hurt?"

"Only minor injuries, thank goodness. A bloody nose, a split lip - as I said, a few bruises. Likely a sore scalp." His fingers clenched in his own hair in frustration. "For such a neanderthal, I was quite restrained."

After a moment, he felt more fingers on the back of his neck, stroking up into his hair. "You didn't mean to hurt her."

"No, of course not," Miles said impatiently. "But I did. And I should have known better. I know how her mother died - under the same circumstances, an executed murderer residing in the body of an innocent woman."

"Who was hurt by someone who wanted _so badly_ to protect someone they loved that they did something thoughtless in their fervor."

Miles hadn't thought that far along the parallel, but Phoenix was right. He was lucky he hadn't taken it so far as Armando had. "It was him who stopped me," Miles admitted, unable to let himself relax even under the gentle strokes of Phoenix's fingers over his scalp. "It's entirely unfair, but he was right - death is a sure protection from anyone causing him further pain. Why is it," he growled, "that the guilty party has this protection, while the troubles of the innocent go on?"

Phoenix's fingers strayed back down his neck, then to his far shoulder. "By that logic," he pointed out, "it would have been more fair for me to have died all those years ago, and for Kristoph to still be alive."

Miles jerked upright, displacing Phoenix's hand as he turned to give Phoenix a glare. "You know that's not what I meant."

"But it makes sense," Phoenix insisted. "I mean, if I'd died then, I wouldn't have had to spend the next week more or less in bed, feeling like I was going to bleed to death or just fall apart the next time I tried to walk - worrying that even if I didn't, I might have some awful disease for the rest of my life. And I wouldn't have spent that time hating myself for what a stupid thing I'd done, letting the police take Dahlia away from me."

It was eerie, Miles thought, how he could speak about it so calmly. Thinking about anyone going through it all was horrifying.

"And I wouldn't have had to pull all of those all-nighters studying for the bar," Phoenix continued, "and I wouldn't have seen Mia die, and I wouldn't have had my career ruined just when it was really warming up. And I wouldn't have to go on living now with the pain of all those bad memories. But you know..."

Miles could guess where he was going with this, and it was trite and simplistic - but even the most trite and simplistic things seemed like something he could believe in when Phoenix replaced his hand on Miles's far shoulder, rested his chin on the nearer, and met his eyes with a smile. "If I'd died then, we wouldn't have met each other again. I wouldn't have met Maya. Or Trucy, or Apollo, or any of the clients I've stayed in touch with. I wouldn't have had the rush of all those victories in court, or the thrill of finally clearing my name after seven years of disgrace. And you know what else?"

His eyes were sparkling, and Miles couldn't _not_ play along. "...What?"

"I wouldn't have gotten over what they did to me - and I wouldn't have had all that _amazing_ sex with you."

"I should have expected you to say something like that," Miles admitted. "Though possibly without the 'amazing sex' part."

"I'm serious," Phoenix insisted, straight-faced. "Regardless of what Kristoph might have implied, he's gone. There are billions of people who never knew him - millions right here in this city - and even most of the ones who _had_ heard his name have probably forgotten he ever existed now. He's never going to have any more memories, good or bad, and no one will make any more memories of him. He was convicted for murdering a random traveller, and a reclusive artist - maybe his name will be at the bottom of an encyclopedia entry about Drew Misham, but aside from that, he only has the past. But you and I, we're still here, and we have the _future_. We're going to keep on working to reform the courts in the country, and... I don't know, maybe someday I'll really get back in the courtroom, and we'll take on cases together again, and always get the correct verdict. Already, just for the oddities of our careers and our roles in implementing the jurist system, we're going to go down in history."

He stopped there, and Miles didn't know what to say. Overly optimistic, probably not entirely accurate, but it _was_ inspiring to hear Phoenix talk with such certainty about their futures, with that steadfast belief shining in his eyes.

He changed his mind when Phoenix opened his mouth again, still looking at him with that same earnest expression. "...Just like Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer."

Miles's palm, abruptly brought up to displace Phoenix from Miles's shoulder, didn't dim Phoenix's enthusiasm one bit. "And if I'd died," he added with a laugh, even as he pushed himself up from where he'd been shoved back on the couch, "I wouldn't have gotten to make you smile like that."

Miles had been trying to fight it, but... no. He _was_ smiling, in spite of everything that had happened, and doing so pleased Phoenix. The best thing he could do now was to let himself smile. "Anyhow, your point has been made," he conceded, though he was still unsettled by the events of that morning. "...You're not disappointed, about what I did?"

"Oh, no - I'm disappointed in you," Phoenix told him with a shrug. "Kind of disgusted by the idea. But I trust that you did what you could for Maya?" Miles nodded. "And obviously you won't be doing it again."

"Definitely not." He'd known better before, and now he had proof that it was a terrible idea.

"And none of us can undo what's already been done, whether through our own guilt or through someone else's punishment," Phoenix stated. "So there's no sense in making you feel worse about it. But you know, if you feel like you have to make it up to me, doing something that thoughtless without even asking..."

"Hmm?"

"Since we've still got a future to make use of," Phoenix mused, "I think there's some time for more of that amazing sex I mentioned earlier."

Miles wanted to protest. But it _had_ started to sink in, what Phoenix had said about living well being the best revenge.

Or perhaps, he considered as he bent over to kiss that ridiculous smile off Phoenix's lips, the best revenge was simply _living_.

* * *

Later that night, as they lay curled together in their bed, Miles found his mind drifting to the loose ends. He still couldn't be truly satisfied with the resolution, knowing that aside from Kristoph, no one had been punished for what they'd done to Phoenix.

"I'm not so sure about that," Phoenix said drowsily, stretching out beneath the sheets when Miles brought it up. "It's like you argued earlier... sometimes life means more potential for being hurt. Even if those guys got their lives together, committed no further crimes and never got caught for anything - chances are that didn't happen, but let's just consider it - they had to live with the knowledge that they'd done something really, really horrible to someone. Something that could ruin whatever life they'd made for themselves if it ever got out."

"I don't know how much you remember about what was going on around you during the incident," Miles added, hesitant. He didn't want to jog Phoenix's memories about it, but there was some evidence that he was right. "I reviewed the rest of the tape, looking for clues. At one point, Kristoph told them openly that he was recording everything they were doing. It was to ensure his own safety."

"Huh..." Apparently Phoenix hadn't heard that. Not that it surprised Miles, given what had been going on. "Heh. They're probably _still_ scared it might turn up and cause trouble for them."

Which should have been what happened, Miles thought. If only he could have seen faces, if only he'd gotten names... but he knew as well as anyone that the recording was meaningless now, as much as he hated admitting it.

And maybe Phoenix was right in this as well. Fear of being caught, guilt over something done decades past - he knew _better_ than anyone how deep those scars could run, given years and years to grow. If there was any decency in those men at all by now...

"But it can't. Right?"

There was an odd little edge to Phoenix's voice all of a sudden, and Miles tilted his head to see him _smiling_, for some reason. "...What exactly are you thinking?" Miles inquired.

"The whole thing is done, you stopped investigating, the video is useless as a clue, and it's never going to trial so it can't be used as evidence. Am I wrong?"

Actually, that look on Phoenix's face was very much the same as the look he'd had in the courtroom, back in the old days, when he'd called a witness out on a blatant lie. It still made Miles a little wary. "No, I believe that's where we stand at the moment."

"Good," said Phoenix, nodding decisively despite his horizontal position. "That means I can destroy it. Turn it into nothing more than a part of the past, just like the man who made it."

Miles wanted to object, just on the basis of it not being _entirely_ a lost cause, and that videotape was the only evidence they were likely to have if something should come to light. But he did recognize that it was unlikely, and besides - the wide smile on Phoenix's face when Miles propped himself up on one elbow to face him directly was something he couldn't bear the thought of erasing.

"You can destroy it," he agreed. He couldn't blame Phoenix for looking so happy about the prospect. But behind that happiness, there was something very sly as well. "...What did you have in mind?"

"Well, I had a couple of ideas... I'm not sure which I like best." Phoenix's smile turned thoughtful. "But then again..."

* * *

Videotapes didn't burn very well. Miles had assumed as much, and said so, but Phoenix just had to try anyway, holding a cheap lighter under the cassette. The note stuck to it burned nicely, at least - and the clear plastic over the actual tape was somewhat scorched by the time Phoenix decided that was enough. But now the plastic was a little too hot to handle...

Which meant that it was time for the tape to take a little bath and cool off. Despite his dismayed exclamations when the toilet refused to flush it, Phoenix didn't seem particularly surprised. Or in fact dismayed. He jogged the handle again.

Perhaps, he suggested, they should dismantle it first. Miles wasn't sure that the best way to do that was with a _salad fork_, but he said nothing - he merely stood by the kitchen table, watching with amusement as Phoenix pried the bottom of the scorched and somewhat waterlogged cassette up and yanked away at the tape inside, twirling it around the fork like spaghetti as he merrily disemboweled it.

The list of entertaining possibilities Phoenix had run through the previous night was amusing enough that Miles had joined in, making his own suggestions of how one might deal with a particularly stubborn character like this videotape, and so they left the house. Trailing a tangled knot of film, Miles left Phoenix in the capable (though somewhat bewildered) care of Gumshoe, not particularly fond of their destination himself. When Phoenix returned, Gumshoe proclaimed him 'a pretty good shot for someone who's never even been to the range before', and Phoenix triumphantly held up a plastic shell, now battered and cracked from the impact of several bullets. Miles told him he was an _excellent_ shot, and they moved on.

Or at least they meant to. On the way out of the office area where Miles had waited, Phoenix spotted a shredder. Miles was fairly sure he heard an actual _cackle_.

There were a few more stops along the way, and by the time they arrived at their final destination, the look on Phoenix's face was not unlike the one Miles had seen when Phoenix had cleared him of his father's murder, over ten years past now - victorious, a little smug, but simply radiating joy. He wished he'd permitted this earlier; it was so obviously cathartic.

On the other hand, the look on Klavier Gavin's face, when he said that _of course_ they could come in and use the microwave, was far more mystified than anything. And the look on his face was not _at all_ pleased when he was then confronted with a pile of scorched, damp, warped plastic shards, some of which were now scraped from pavement burn and embedded with tiny bits of asphalt, and a wad of sloppily shredded film. "Achtung! You don't put that in a microwave - especially not mine! ...What _is_ that?"

"It's not about you," Miles assured him, keeping him off to the side while Phoenix slid the tape's remains into the microwave with a slightly manic grin and turned it to the highest setting. "Your brother purchased the appliances in this kitchen, didn't he?"

"Ja, but-"

"Oh, right - what am I thinking?" Phoenix grabbed a paper towel from the roll on the counter, and opened the microwave door again. "Just in case this doesn't render the microwave completely unusable," he explained, rearranging the remains of the videotape on the paper towel, "and so we can take it with us when we leave. I'm sure it's not going to smell very good, and I wouldn't want to leave you to clean that up. Speaking of, is there a - oh, there's the ventilation fan."

Klavier tugged absently at the spiral of hair that fell over his shoulder, bewildered, as Phoenix pressed the button and closed the microwave once more. "Whatever you are doing, Herr Wright, would you mind giving me an explanation of why you must do it in _my kitchen?_"

"The simple explanation," Miles informed him, "is that he's not doing it in _your_ kitchen. He's doing it in your brother's kitchen. And I think all of us would prefer not to provide a more detailed explanation of why it's happening - including your brother, if he were here."

Having punched in a cook time, Phoenix paused. "Here we go..." he murmured, raising his finger. "Or should I say... _Take that!_"

Almost immediately after he jabbed at the button, there were crackling sounds and flashes of light from inside the microwave. Klavier's and Phoenix's eyes both widened - Klavier's in shock, Phoenix's in delight, as Phoenix took a few steps back. "Huh, I didn't know there was that much metal in these things. Then again, maybe there are a couple of bullets still in there..."

"_Bullets?_" Klavier asked pointedly.

Phoenix ignored him, happily watching the miniature lightning storm. "Maybe I should have invited Larry," he commented. "He'd have _loved_ this."

"He would," Miles agreed, unable to control his own smirk.

The crackling sounds continued even after the timer beeped, and it was a good thing Phoenix had started the ventilation fan; when he opened the door, wisps of smoke curled out, smelling of burnt plastic. "I think it's about ready," he observed, reaching inside, "but we'll have to let it cool a little while."

Little tendrils of film were still writhing slightly as they cooled, where they hadn't melted completely onto the paper towel. It was entirely unrecognizable as having once been a videotape, as far as Miles could tell when Phoenix turned to them and presented it proudly.

Klavier scratched his head, his expression torn between dismay and intrigue. "I must admit, that made for... interesting visuals," he said hesitantly, "but I suspect you've rendered the microwave useless."

"I'll have a new one delivered," Miles murmured to the younger prosecutor as Phoenix headed for the door. "Trust me - it was worth it."

Once they were settled in the car, Phoenix holding a mostly solidified, blackened mess stuck to a paper towel, Phoenix leaned his head back against the headrest and started to laugh until he nearly choked. Miles had to join him - the sound was too sweet. "Where to now?" he asked, when they'd finally started breathing again.

"I dunno - I think we're done." Phoenix looked down at the mess in his lap fondly. "Now the only question is where to dispose of it."

"The trash bin would be too mundane, I presume."

"I could always give it to Trucy," Phoenix suggested. "She likes making things 'disappear forever', and that's exactly what I want to have happen to our little friend here."

"It's a thought... As long as you're _sure_ you're done with it."

"Definitely."

They pulled out of the Gavins' driveway in thoughtful silence, and it wasn't until they were nearly to the expressway leading back to their own part of the city that Phoenix broke it. "Though, you know..."

He sounded hesitant. "What is it?" Miles asked.

"I'm kind of tempted to, uh, take a cue from you," Phoenix said, "and, ah... first make a trip up to Kurain."

For a second, Miles didn't know why he sounded so sheepish about it. Then he realized - and it was fortunate that he knew the expressways like the back of his hand, because that meant he could fix Phoenix with a serious stare. "I know, I know, it defeats the purpose," Phoenix admitted. "But..." A chuckle broke through his admission. "Can you imagine the look on his face if we called him up for _that_?"

Miles could - and worse yet, he could clearly imagine Phoenix standing there, smug smile intact as he displayed his handiwork. For all that he _did_ know the expressways like the back of his hand, he almost missed their ramp, he was snickering so hard all of a sudden, and Phoenix was laughing with him. "It _would_ defeat the purpose, though," Miles stated, wiping his eyes with one hand.

"It would," Phoenix agreed. "So no more of that line of thinking. We'll get rid of this, and that'll be that - then I can get back to focusing on the things that matter _now_." Miles spared a second to look over at Phoenix again, and found him smiling warmly. Just the kind of smile he always expected to see on that face; everything was back to normal then, he decided, and turned his attention to the road.

At least until he heard Phoenix putting the window down, and he glanced over just in time to see Phoenix let out a whoop and toss the remains of the videotape out the window, sending it crashing to the side of the expressway. Miles refrained from giving him a lecture about littering for the time being, and just smiled as he drove on, leaving it to vanish in the rearview mirror. 


End file.
